The Ex-President part 2: Tabula Rasa
by Aphelionite
Summary: Can Laura learn to put the past behind her and build a new life on Galactica?
1. Chapter 1

The Ex-President Part Two:

**Tabula Rasa**

"_Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."_

_~ Winston Churchill ~_

**Chapter I**

Admiral Adama had hoped to slip out of his quarters this morning without ever waking the temperamental redhead curled up on his sofa, therefore he had tiptoed around his quarters getting ready, quietly shutting the bathroom door to muffle the sound of the water as he performed his morning ablutions. He had even decided to get his breakfast elsewhere this morning rather than risk Private Boyd waking her on delivering it. Unfortunately, feeling slightly the worse for wear, he wasn't quick enough to leave before Colonel Tigh arrived for their morning briefing and his slamming of the hatch alone was enough to startle Laura awake.

Noticing movement to his left, the colonel turned. 'Well don't you look like a ball of sunshine,' grinned Saul, taking in her panda-eyes and mussed-up hair, which seemed to grow redder with her annoyance. 'How's your head?' he asked, obviously _way_ louder than necessary as far as Laura was concerned.

'Frak off,' she said grumpily, pulling the blanket up over her head with a groan and for the briefest moment Saul could have sworn he had seen her flipping him off.

He raised his eyebrows at Bill as he entered his office, 'Charming.'

'Why do you think _I _didn't wake her?' he said quietly. _Very _quietly. 'So I guess Ellen decided to let you live.'

'That's because she's thinking up something worse than death,' said Tigh, no doubt speaking from experience. 'So what did you two get up to after we left?'

'Not much. We went to sleep not long after you left,' said Bill, putting his shoes on behind his desk.

'Must have been pretty wasted to not make it back to her own room,' he said, given that her room was less than fifteen metres down the corridor.

'As if you're one to talk about getting 'pretty wasted', Colonel,' said Laura frostily behind him, swathed in her blanket, having peeled herself off the leather couch. Damn she was stealthy.

'Never said I was,' he remarked, with entirely too much enjoyment as she winced again at his volume.

'Maybe it would be better if you said nothing at all,' suggested Laura, rubbing her temple as she made her way into the bathroom and closed the door carefully behind her.

'What crawled up _her _ass?' asked Tigh.

'Three-quarters of a bottle of whisky,' said Bill, though he knew the hangover was probably only half to blame - if that. He pulled on his uniform jacket.

'That why you're in such a hurry to get out of here?' asked Saul, looking faintly amused.

'Worry about yourself,' he warned, secretly pleased to see someone else get it in the neck from Laura for a change. Suddenly he wasn't in nearly as much of a rush to leave. He might even stay for breakfast if there was going to be a floor show.

'I've had my fill of moody women for one morning,' said Saul. 'Maybe I'll meet you in CIC.'

'Might be wise,' said Bill, chuckling a little as he clocked the bruise on Saul's forehead. 'I won't be long.'

'I bet you won't,' said Saul, quickly adopting an expression of innocence as the bathroom door opened again and Laura stuck her head out.

She ignored Saul, holding a bottle of pills up so Bill could see them. 'Painkillers,' he confirmed and she retrieved the glass of water Bill had abandoned on the drinks-cart last night before disappearing back into the bathroom.

Saul tilted his head as if to say 'good luck' and made a swift getaway while he could. Bill looked around for his glasses. They weren't where he usually left them before bed and now he was trying to remember when he'd last had them. Certainly during the triad game. He checked the table and then around and along the top of the sofas (in case Laura had found them and put them out of the way) and was in the process of feeling down the sides of the cushions when Laura finished in the bathroom.

'Lost something?' she asked, the blanket now folded in her arms, not quite obscuring the black vest he had been surreptitiously admiring the night before. Okay, maybe not the vest itself but in his defence he hadn't had an ungenerous amount to drink himself.

'Glasses,' he said, slowly straightening up as he realised where they might have vanished to. There was every possibility that he had been so busy ogling Laura in that top while he was bending over to get her bedding out last night that he had failed to notice his glasses slip out of his breast pocket. He opened the trunk and, sure enough, after a few seconds of probing amongst the spare blankets he had his hands on his glasses. He might have spent a very long time looking for them and serve him right for losing them in so wicked an activity.

Laura looked mystified, 'How did you-?'

'Lucky guess,' he said quickly, taking the blanket she offered him and dropping it into the open trunk before looking determinedly at her face, which she had taken the opportunity to wash.

He was about to ask her if she was staying for breakfast when the phone started to buzz and Laura cringed, putting her hands over her ears and creating some distance between herself and the deliberately abrasive noise, which didn't help her much as it was coming from the direction of his office too. Picking up the receiver by the door, Bill soon found himself having trouble concentrating on what Dee was telling him about a drifting transport shuttle as Laura, rather than gathering her things to leave, climbed into his bunk and slid beneath the covers with a sigh. He was further distracted when, after a protracted bout of wriggling, she dropped her trousers out from under said covers. His covers. On his bunk. Laura was in _his _bunk in _that _top with _no trousers on_…

He swallowed. 'Launch the rescue bird,' he said to Dee, hanging up without knowing if there had been more and moving cautiously towards his office. He needed a couple of files off his desk. Honestly.

'I'm stealing your bunk for a few hours,' she said, her pale arms and shoulders above the covers, the rest of her sadly hidden.

Just be cool, Bill. 'I'd say help yourself but you already have.'

'Would you like me to get out?' she asked, propping her head up on her arm and looking far cuter than a middle-aged woman should after a night of heavy drinking.

Bill glanced at the crumpled trousers on the floor but somehow managed to say without a hint of innuendo, 'Stay as long as you want.'

'Thanks,' she said, settling down again. 'Thank the gods I wasn't in my room when that frakking music went off today. I think my head might have exploded.' She shuddered at the thought.

'It wouldn't have. I had it switched off yesterday afternoon,' he said, picking up the files. He thought she'd earned it. After all the point had been to get her out of her room and, well, she definitely wasn't in her room anymore. 'I'll let you get back to sleep.'

'Thank you, Bill,' she said and he gave a mental sigh. He'd fantasised about having Laura Roslin in his bed many times and in none of those fantasies had he been leaving. Life was cruel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tabula Rasa**

**Chapter II**

Thankfully, when Laura was once again forced into consciousness by the macabre machinations of her nightmares, she no longer had the sensation of a head full of cotton wool to contend with, though the headache of what the frak she was going to do with her life next still weighed heavily on her mind and, unfortunately, there was no pill for that. Clearly, her present situation could not continue. For one thing, she was getting bored sitting around all day and there were only so many times you could rearrange your clothes, toiletries, bedding and/or furniture before you started coming off a little obsessive-compulsive. Not that anyone but the boy who brought her meals would have a chance of noticing her constantly shifting desk and wardrobe, and he already appeared to think she was out of her , you spilled _one _breakfast tray over someone…

Bill thought the way the boy avoided looking her directly in the eye like she was some kind of gorgon was highly amusing when they breakfasted together, and she could see him trying to stifle his smile every time she tried to be cordial only for the boy to start stammering. Okay, so maybe she'd shoved the tray into his hands a _little _too hard and the coffee down his trousers _had _been a little hot but a guy his age should really have better reflexes and it had been _weeks_ ago. Honestly, his cowering was starting to become provoking and it almost seemed like Bill wanted her to snap just to see if the boy would actually have a nervous breakdown. How she hadn't upended a tray on Bill_,_ too,she didn't know.

How he hadn't throttled _her _in the last few weeks, she didn't know either. She'd been obnoxious, and as much as her inability to goad Bill had frustrated her in the beginning she had since come to value his thick skin when it came to her loose cannon of a temper - not that he hadn't barked at her a couple of times. Not nearly as often as he'd obviously wanted to though nor, if she was honest with herself, half as often as she'd deserved it. She'd been defensive, and sometimes she'd even meant to be mean, played into his expectation of her perpetual bad mood to stop herself from revealing too much. She felt that it was a sign of weakness to need, well, anyone, and Laura didn't wear weakness well.

Frak, she never did work up the guts to tell Bill about her cancer herself, couldn't bring herself to tell a man she'd spent half her time fighting with and the other half flattering that he need only wait a few months and she'd be out of his hair for good. Back then she hadn't wanted her illness to be another excuse for him to minimize her role as president.

Of course that had been before their quest for the Tomb of Athena; everything seemed so different after Kobol, not least the way she felt about him.

He would never know how close she'd been to total physical and mental breakdown in that gods-forsaken forest; how every doubt she'd ever had had come crashing down on her at once; how deeply she had known that failure would be death in her weakened condition, and almost welcomed it. Huddled under that tarp on a drowning hillside, bereft of her spiritual advisor, left with only Elosha's blood-stained prophecies and a cylon guide, she had prayed to the gods, prayed more deeply, offered more of her soul than ever before, for a miracle. If she couldn't find the map to Earth her only legacy would be false hope, and she wouldn't even be around to answer for it when the fleet began to fall apart…

And the gods had sent her Bill. Bill, who she'd thought more likely to shoot her than shake her hand after estranging him from his son, had turned out to be full of forgiveness and willingness to help her find the tomb, even though he thought it was a fool's errand. How could she _not_ feel differently about him after that? How could she not admire the strength of character it took to admit his mistakes, the good heart that had literally answered her prayers and brought him to her in her hour of need?

And he'd been there ever since, a pillar of support, though Laura would find it hard to admit to herself just how much stronger he'd made her feel, in ways that had nothing to do with the fact that he was the head of the military. Sometimes it seemed the only way she could allow herself to depend on someone was by pretending it wasn't happening.

Like now. She'd been on Galactica a month and she'd done what? Apart from bitch about Baltar? Nothing. After the election she could've ended up anywhere, doing anything, if not for Bill snatching her out of the flames again. Nobody else had been queuing up to take her in. And how had she thanked him for his kindness? By damaging his ship, treating him like crap and drinking all his liquor. He'd been a true friend and she'd been an ungrateful ass. A sponging, ungrateful ass.

It was time to get a job and make herself useful again. Hadn't Bill said something about a job last night? Her memory was a little fuzzy. Well, whatever it might be, she would take it. It was the only way she knew how to show him that she had better intentions for the future than she had demonstrated in the last few weeks. She might also try remembering that he was the last person in the world she should be getting mad at after everything he'd been trying to do for her. He'd probably appreciate that. And a proper apology for not realising that sooner wouldn't be inappropriate either…

She sighed, reluctantly sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A glance at her watch, held close to her face, told her what she'd already suspected, that it was late in the morning and she had lounged around long enough. Why was Bill's bunk so much more comfortable than hers? She stretched her arms over her head with a groan before bowing to the inevitable and throwing back the covers.

She dawdled in the shower, 'borrowing' Bill's soap to wash off the smell of whisky and cigarette smoke. It couldn't get the smell out of her clothes though, nor the taste out of her mouth, and she was eager to get back to her own room to change after she'd finally - grudgingly - switched off the water and gotten dressed. That didn't stop her from lingering long enough to steal a book from Bill's collection though, leaving a note in the gap on his shelf, just in case he actually noticed it was missing. No matter how many times Bill told her there was a system to the piles of books stacked around his quarters she had yet to figure it out, strongly suspecting that they weren't as orderly as Bill liked to make out. She was half-tempted to keep the book unless Bill could tell which title she'd taken by the hole left in this 'system' of his. Unfortunately, that was also known as theft…

When she got back to her quarters she found Specialist Henderson waiting to check the wiring again and smiled apologetically for keeping her. 'I just got here,' Cally assured her, when Laura said she hoped she had not been there long.

Laura let the technician in and excused herself to brush her teeth, taking a few candles with her in anticipation of the lights going out. They were flickering now, occasionally winking out for a couple of seconds together before flaring back into life. It was downright perilous if one was in the act of applying eyeliner or mascara, granted not something she did often at the moment, perhaps a situation she should remedy, not for vanity's sake but to lift her spirits as only a little pampering could. She decided she was going to devote at least some of the afternoon to a manicure and pedicure, sheer indulgence, the kind of indulgence she hadn't had time for since The Fall. She had a bottle of nail varnish somewhere. Red, of course. There was something appealing about red toenails.

The lights _had _gone out and Laura carried the candles back into the living area with her, carefully standing them on the small desk before grabbing up the packet of cigarettes she'd dropped on the bed on her way in and lighting one. 'I apologise if I was short with you last time,' said Laura, rummaging in the desk drawer for something to use as an ashtray and coming out with a small trinket box, perfect with its metal interior. 'I've been a little short-tempered lately,' she said, in somewhat of an understatement as she sat down on the bed.

Cally took the pocket-light out of her mouth. 'Hey I've had a few electric shocks on the job, makes me cranky, too,' she shrugged, having already forgotten about it in the relative calm since. 'And we were all pretty pissed after the election. I mean, no one who'd actually _met _Baltar would vote for him. He's such a creep, it's like he thinks he's a gift from the gods or something,' she shuddered. 'And then, you can be talking to the freak one minute and next second it's like he doesn't even see you. I'm telling you the guy's got _issues_…' She trailed off, looking over at Laura, her eyes widening. 'Sorry, I'm talking too much,' she apologised, realising she had probably been too free and tacking on a belated, 'ma'am.'

'I didn't realise you'd spent so much time with him,' said Laura, pouring herself some water from the jug beside her bunk and trying not to appear as interested as she was.

'Not by choice,' said Cally, turning back to the open panel. 'We were both on the raptor that crashed on Kobol.'

And then she stuffed the pocket-torch back in her mouth and went back to work and Laura was left wondering what might have happened on Kobol while all hell was breaking loose in the fleet, wondering if she had overlooked something that might have helped her in the election. Not that that should matter anymore, but it did. She wanted to dig up Baltar's every dirty little secret, though she was pretty sure Tory had done a thorough job of it after Baltar sprang his intent to run for the presidency on them, mid press-conference no less. Frakking Baltar. Literally. His file was stuffed with enough sexual liaisons to turn the pages blue. He was constantly shuttling off to Cloud 9, usually charming enough to pick someone up in one of the many bars but not above paying to have his needs met.

She wondered if either the Cloud 9 disaster or the presidency had changed his habits any but was forced to conclude that they probably hadn't. Baltar was used to living in the public eye, he knew how to work the press and woo the public and still run around like a frakking playboy. It was nothing short of infuriating when she thought how she had staggered under the enormity of the responsibility, how she had agonised, day and night, over the decisions that meant keeping the human race alive but slowly tore her soul to shreds. And what was keeping Baltar up at night?

Probably his leggy 'aides'.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading, hope to hear from you! X


	3. Chapter 3

**Tabula Rasa**

**Chapter III**

Adama hadn't walked six paces into his quarters before his phone was ringing. He grumbled to himself, shooting a rueful glance at the whiskey decanter as he passed it on the way to his office. He had been looking forward to a pick-me-up before dinner. It had been one of those days where he felt like he had accomplished nothing despite not having had two minutes to himself in fourteen hours, a day full of a thousand trivial annoyances rather than anything that could be termed an emergency, or even urgent. Galactica and Pegasus suddenly found themselves without the excuse of protecting the fleet to shield them from almost constant civilian demands. It was tedious. Not that they weren't still protecting the fleet. It was just a slightly different kettle of fish when you were hidden inside a nebula and hadn't heard a whisper from the enemy in over a month, an enemy that had supposedly ceased its hostile campaign against its creators.

Now he was being told that the President wanted a meeting tomorrow, by his own former officer no less, and Bill could already guess what it would be about as he reluctantly agreed and hung up the phone. He'd have to go over to Colonial One, not something he relished, but rather that than risk Baltar crossing paths with Laura, small as that risk might be given her recent misanthropy. One ship - even a Battlestar - wasn't big enough for the both of them.

He poured himself a double measure, noticing as he did so Laura's empty water glass from this morning. He glanced over at his bunk, saw that it had been remade and suddenly wondered if he would be able to smell her on his pillow. He resisted the urge to check, keeping it as something to look forward to at bed-time, the scent of her between his sheets… Bill tore his mind out of the gutter, loosening his top button as he sank into one of the low leather armchairs in his office. He had to go and see Laura later and he'd rather not do it with those kinds of images in his head. The mental picture his mind had conjured up after this morning had been tormenting him all day as it was.

He turned his thoughts back to the current president, who was getting impatient with the lack of actual settlement on the surface. With the military having the experience required to co ordinate the ships, people and supplies from orbit to the ground the government needed their help, or more accurately, demanded it, but what was Bill supposed to do? Where did Baltar think the ships were going to land when they hadn't even finished clearing the landing site, let alone the settlement site, yet? Twenty-odd ships and tens of thousands of people needed a lot of room.

He took a swig of whisky and sighed. The time for settlement would be coming soon enough and people were already queuing up to stake their claims on New Caprica. They'd have to be ordered according to usefulness, of course, workers with experience of heavy machinery, farming and construction, etcetera, first. It was not a job he had the time or inclination to carry out personally. Normally he would find someone on the crew to delegate it to, usually Gaeta if he hadn't decided to throw in with Baltar as his Chief-of-Staff. Fortunately he knew someone with some spare time and extensive expertise in people management.

Laura did not seem surprised to find Bill on her doorstep an hour later, after he'd had a second drink and a much-appreciated dinner, waving him in without preamble. 'I was beginning to think you were going to keep me in suspense until tomorrow,' she said, offering him her desk chair to sit on.

'You look nice,' he couldn't help noticing, completely sidetracked.

That was an understatement. She looked, well, no way he'd ever seen her look before. She was in a black and red floral-print dress that finished mid-thigh for a start.

'Thank you,' she smiled. 'Though the softened image did nothing to convince Boyd I'm not still a tray-throwing monster underneath. You know he actually _dropped _the tray tonight? Luckily out in the corridor rather than in here, but still... I know I can be cranky but I didn't think I was tremor-inducing.'

Bill wasn't sure 'softened' was the word for this new look. Not that he was complaining; the heavier, darker makeup seemed to reflect her recent attitude more than the minimalist professional look he was used to. She looked as he imagined an Edward Prima heroine would; the bolshie broad who catches the PI's eye in some dark, smoky jazz club and, of course, nearly always turned out to be up to her neck in all sorts of sordid things.

'And you were wearing that dress?' he asked, as if he couldn't understand how it had failed to work in _calming _Boyd either.

'As you see me,' she confirmed. 'Plus a white mask and chainsaw. Or so you'd think from his reaction.'

Bill found himself once again trying not to laugh at the Boyd situation, especially when he knew exactly why he'd dropped the tray. Bill had almost dropped the file he was carrying upon seeing her tonight. He was having trouble taking his eyes off her. 'Your hair's different.'

She smiled again, surprised he'd noticed. 'Mm, Tory stopped by earlier and I managed to convince her to give it a trim, quid pro quo, except now I'm finding hair all over the place. Damn vents move it around. The rest,' she indicated her appearance, from make-up to red toenails, practically inviting him to look her up and down when he had only just managed to stop it, 'is, well, just a time-intensive ego boost. All dressed up with no place to go, so to speak. Can I get you a drink?' she asked, opening the bottom desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of whisky with a flourish. 'Think I owe you after last night.'

'I won't say no,' he agreed, pulling his chair further into the centre of the room and sitting. 'It's been one of those days.'

So. Laura's former aide had finally decided to check in, had she? He'd never liked the efficient but apparently ruthless Tory Foster as much as Billy Keikeya, the man she had replaced, who had worked for Laura since before the attacks and was killed by terrorists aboard Cloud 9 four months ago, scant weeks after Laura's recovery from cancer. Billy had been a good man, had stayed behind when Laura had broken out of Galactica's brig in order to help facilitate their reconciliation when the time was right. His death had been a hard blow for Laura; in her own words, he'd been the closest thing she had to family and she'd valued his idealistic opinion more than Billy had ever fully appreciated.

_Billy _would never have talked Laura and Saul into rigging the election as the admiral was convinced Tory had.

'What is Ms Foster doing these days?' he asked, and Laura shot him a brief look over her shoulder, obviously picking up on his tone, before turning her attention back to their drinks; his whisky, hers water.

'I believe she called it 'keeping her options open'. What?' she asked when she turned back to find him staring again.

Busted. That dress just clung to all the right places. He'd lost his train of thought. 'I expected to find you still nursing a hangover and you look like you've just come back from a weekend shopping in Paluva.'

'Behold the power of a makeover,' she joked, handing him his drink with a 'cheers' before seating herself on the bed opposite.

_Powerful indeed_, thought Bill as he tried not to stare at her legs, wondering if she was doing this on purpose, if in fact her new plan was to give him a heart-attack, because she was definitely affecting his blood-pressure.

Probably just wishful thinking: death by tantalising hemline.

'I owe you one hell of an apology for the last few weeks,' she said next, snapping him back to reality.

He shook his head. 'You apologised last night.'

'I slurred at you last night,' she disagreed, 'that's not a proper apology. I was so far out of line, Bill. Some of the things I said-'

'Well, I did keep waking you up at the crack of dawn,' he said, not feeling entirely blameless for some of her outbursts. She obviously wasn't a morning person. 'Forgive and forget?' he suggested. 'Start afresh.'

She shook her head a little, once again surprised by his swiftness to expunge her sins. Would she ever realise how much she meant to him? Probably not, if Private Boyd was anything to go by.

'I would like that,' she agreed.

'Just keep that in mind when I offer you this job,' he said, only half kidding as he handed her the dossier outlining the position. She looked at him with a 'humph' of foreboding, placing her glass down on the desk in favour of the cigarette which had been silently going up in a column of blue smoke since his arrival.

'Okay…' she said, with the air of someone bracing themselves as she opened the file.

Bill held his breath. Whilst - technically - she was more than qualified for the job, he knew he was asking a lot of her by suggesting she involve herself in the settlement process when she had been so vehemently against it from the get-go. Would she be able to put her personal feelings aside and accept that the settlement was going ahead with or without her? Or would she simply tell him to go frak himself, as she had with Tigh earlier? Laura seemed determined to read the brief thoroughly before making a decision either way, quietly puffing on her cigarette, glasses perched halfway down her nose whilst Bill nervously sipped his drink, quickly emptying the glass, unsure if the occasional sardonic snort signalled amusement or simple incredulity.

Finally, she took off her glasses, looked directly at him and said, 'You have a sick sense of humour.'

'No joke.'

'That's what's so sick,' she said, tossing the file aside. 'You want _me_ to organise the settlers? _Me?_' she repeated, clearly wondering if he'd lost his marbles. 'Knowing full well that I'd love nothing more than to see Baltar fail spectacularly, you want to put _me _in charge of choosing his workforce?'

'He'll probably hate the idea as much as you do.'

She considered. 'He would, wouldn't he? Now there's a thought.'

'Laura…' he warned, discerning a distinctly devilish glint in her eye, not helped by the edgier new look nor the smoke coiling around her.

'Yes?' she replied as if candyfloss wouldn't melt in her mouth.

'I know you wouldn't deliberately sabotage thousands of innocent settlers just so you can turn around and say I told you so when it all falls apart. Especially when you know that Baltar and Zarek's reign will fail well enough on its own.'

'Not when you put it like that,' she said, pouting a little with disappointment.

'Remember what you said on the deck of Colonial One the day you left?' he said, reminding her that this wasn't about Baltar but what was left of the human race, about giving them the best odds for survival, starting with getting the relevant ships lined up and landed properly.

'Good advice for any government employee,' she said pointedly, lighting another cigarette and Bill could see that even that was an act of defiance, a 'frak you' to setting a better example.

'Elected or not, they still need you - and I could use your help,' he added, hoping that carried some weight.

'What about your Mister Gaeta? Seems to me to be right up his alley,' she said, glancing at the folder again.

Oops… 'He's a little busy these days. He's Baltar's Chief of Staff now,' he said, just spitting it out.

'Oh. I didn't know that,' she said, failing spectacularly in her attempt to look nonchalant at being caught out of the loop. 'Trying not to spend so much time listening to the wireless…' She glanced at his empty glass. 'Get you another?'

Whilst she hadn't blown the proposition out of the water straight off, he didn't think she was quite ready to accept it either as she faffed about refilling his drink and then straightening the blankets after she'd sat back down. 'I don't wanna help make Baltar look good,' she finally admitted petulantly, shoulders slumping. 'Is that sewage job still available? Much less filthy work.'

'If you really feel like you can't do it, you can always say no,' he said reasonably, knowing that his use of the word 'can't' could be construed as a challenge, though Laura was unlikely to react to such a pedestrian goad, politician that she was. Ex-politician.

She sighed heavily, 'I wouldn't have to actually _talk _to Baltar?'

Come on, he wasn't that naive. 'I'm not anticipating it but I'm prepared to run interference if necessary,' he reassured her.

'I suppose that's something,' she said, though it sounded more like she meant the opposite. Indeed she looked so unhappy at the proposition that he wondered why she didn't just tell him where he could stick it. He was already trying to come up with something else to offer her (the sewage pipes being self-cleaning bar when Tigh was feeling particularly bad-tempered) when she asked, 'Can I sleep on it?'

'_Really_?' he said, perhaps sounding a little too surprised.

'What is this?' she said, firing up immediately, as she was wont to do of late. 'First you ask me to take the job, then you act like I'm an idiot to consider it. Am I missing something here?'

'Whoa,' he jumped in quickly, hoping to nip another argument in the bud. They'd been doing so well. 'Can you blame me if I'm surprised you're considering this? Given the way you feel about the current administration?'

She ran both hands through her hair as if she wanted to tear it out, belatedly remembering the lit cigarette in one hand and jerking it away from her head in mild alarm. Had she heard a sizzle?

'Talk about your hot-heads,' she joked, putting down her cigarette and patting her hair, just in case. Bill chuckled then groaned at the dreadful pun. 'I know, I know, I'm sorry,' she apologised.

'I've warned you about that fiery temper…'

'Oh_, gods__…_' She groaned even more emphatically than he had at _her _terrible pun. 'Now _that_ was awful.'

'Made _you _laugh,' he pointed out.

'That was gagging not giggling.'

He shook his head, pretending to look annoyed, before flashing a quick smile and asking, 'Are we running tomorrow?'

'You're asking me?' Her turn to look surprised.

He nodded, 'Up to you.'

She looked at her clock, thinking about it. 'I don't see why not. Truth be told, I actually kind of like it,' she said confessionally. 'I haven't been this fit in years.'

'Me either,' he admitted with a smile, glad that she wasn't giving up their runs at the first given opportunity. He might not have missed the running itself but would very much have missed seeing Laura first thing every morning.

She gave a little, lopsided smile that made her eyes sparkle and his stomach flip-flop as she added, 'Plus, it's the perfect opportunity to steal your shower.'

And she definitely never missed an opportunity to hog his shower in the mornings, so much so that he now made sure to get in there first. _He _only took fifteen minutes in the bathroom, Laura invariably took at least double that. Not that he minded how long she spent in the shower, the water supply aboard Galactica being inexhaustible, just so long as he didn't have to wolf his breakfast down in order to get to work on time.

He glanced at the clock, realising that if they were going running tomorrow he should let her get some sleep. He drained the rest of his drink and Laura recognised that he was about to leave, getting to her feet first. 'It's late,' he said apologetically, honestly sorry to be going so soon as he handed her his glass. She left it on her desk, stubbing out her cigarette.

'I'll let you know what I've decided tomorrow,' she said, glancing at the folder again. He nodded.

'See you in the morning,' he said, turning to leave.

'Bill,' she stopped him, and he was more than a little surprised when she pulled him into a hug. It was most unLaura-like, at least in his experience. 'Thank you,' she said, 'for everything you've done.'

Would wonders never cease? He pressed a warm hand against her back and quickly found that she smelled as good as she looked. Suddenly he was afraid he was going to say or do something ill-advised. Though he knew the appropriate response should be 'anytime' or 'no trouble at all', he said something pretty much guaranteed to make her hit him instead. He was a gentleman, not a eunuch and Laura was close to irresistible tonight. 'No task too great for 'Zeus on Mount Olympus'…'

As predicted, she quickly released him, punching him in the shoulder, cheeks instantly aflame.

'Ass,' she accused.

'No, you think I'm god-like, I'm honoured,' he continued, feeling both relieved and frustrated at the retraction of her from his arms.

Laura continued to redden. 'Frak _off_!' she warned, now crimson with embarrassment. He laughed, making it over the threshold a split-second ahead of her foot and safely away from temptation.

* * *

AN: Aw, that's my fave scene for some reason. Let me know what you think. Next chapter should be up in week ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Tabula Rasa**

**Chapter IV**

True to her intention to earn her keep, Laura had taken the job** - **and she'd been taking it ever since. The fleet captains had soon found out that Roslin was now keeper of the waiting-list to land on New Caprica and everyone, but _everyone_, wanted to be at the top of that list. The only time the phone wasn't ringing was when she was _on _it.

Which she happened to be when Bill arrived home from work on this particular night. 'Listen, I don't care if you used to land your ship upside down with a fluorescent pink tutu on, until you allow a maintenance crew aboard to carry out the mandated structural and engineering diagnostics and bring your ship into line with current regulations you _won__'__t _be landing on New Caprica.' She paused, looking far from impressed with his response. 'Well Admiral Adama just walked in, maybe you'd like to tell him so yourself?' she challenged. She paused again, waving off Bill's briefly indignant look at being dragged into the middle of an argument the moment he walked through the door. 'No, I didn't think so,' she said in grim satisfaction, slamming the receiver down. '_Gah_!'

Bill raised his eyebrows, reminding her that she had promised not to break anything in temper when he'd agreed to let her use his office to work. If she wanted the convenience of having the information she needed on hand and, more importantly, filed in such a way that she could actually find what she was frakking looking for (which she couldn't in her own cramped quarters) then she would have to learn to control her frequent urge to hit something when dealing with the public. She couldn't decide if Bill Adama was a master in unconventional therapy or disturbingly gifted in the blackmail department. Maybe he simply valued his belongings.

'Sorry,' she apologised, tossing her glasses onto the desk and running both hands through her hair, something she had taken to doing frequently lately. 'Frakking Captain Murdoch,' she explained, fingers poised in mid-air as if ready to close about the man's throat. "I put this ship down on Saggitaron with ten million tonnes of grapefruit in the hold and only one thruster working, lassie!" she said, lowering her voice in mocking imitation and gesticulating more and more forcefully as she got into her stride. "And you're telling me that I have to follow the same regulations as everyone else?! That I'm not _allowed _to risk the lives of nearly four-hundred people, as opposed to frak-loads of grapefruit and my own clearly _cracked _head, in this garbage-scowl of a cargo-ship that probably hasn't seen an engineer since the day it was built?!" Honestly! Some people! He must be the luckiest man in the world to have survived this long,' she huffed, more than a little red in the face, hands finally resting on her hips. 'How do you get someone decaptained?'

"Decaptained?" he repeated in amusement. 'Are you sure you don't mean 'decapitated'?'

'Don't _you _start with me,' she warned, _mostly _in jest, pointing a finger at him, and he thought he heard her muttering about _someone__'__s_ head being about to roll_._

'Wouldn't dream of it,' he said, being rather attached to his cranium. She narrowed her eyes at him sceptically. 'Drink?' he asked.

She sighed, looking dissatisfied with the suggestion. 'No, you know what, I think I'm going to go for a run, blow off some steam,' she said, walking out from behind the desk after him as he disappeared in the direction of the drinks cart. 'You mind if I use your shower after?'

'Not at all. Stay to dinner,' he offered, something he did every time he got back from work to find her still there. He liked the company in the evenings. Okay, he liked _her _company, full stop, whenever it came.

'We'll see how the run goes first,' she said with a flash of a wry smile, before rolling her eyes and turning back to tidy up her papers for the evening. When her dedicated line started ringing again she refused to answer it. 'I'm not here,' she said, backing towards the door in an attempt to make that statement a reality. 'See you in a while.' And she ducked out.

'Adama,' he said, the phone receiver seeming no worse the wear for Laura's rough handling.

'Sir, I have a Captain Murdoch asking to be put through to Laura Roslin. I know your orders were to hold all calls but he says their transmission was cut off,' said Dualla, as usual the voice in CIC.

'It was,' he confirmed with a smirk. 'Tell him to try again in the morning.' He shouldn't laugh. The gods knew the constant ringing of the phone had driven him to distraction on day one and he'd since taken to having Laura's work calls stopped when he went off duty at the end of the day, for her sake as well as his own.

He unbuttoned his tunic, grabbing his chance to use the shower before Laura got back, keen to sluice off another tedious day and once again try to loosen the knot in his shoulder under the near-scalding water. It had been bothering him for a couple of days now, ever since an impromptu sparring match with Lee. When he got out he realised Laura must have come back to drop off a change of clothes before her run, for the green sweater and black trousers, amongst other neatly folded laundry on the table, were definitely not his.

She was almost an hour in coming back and looked well and truly done in as she leant over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. 'How many laps?' he asked, when he thought she could answer.

'Three,' she panted, straightening up to begin her warm down, tank-top plastered to her skin. 'And a half,' she added ruefully. 'Next time.'

Seven klicks was still impressive, considering it had been little more than a month since they'd first started going running, and then she'd barely been able to manage one. 'Did it work?'

'On my appetite,' she nodded, rotating her shoulders a few more times and stretching her arms towards the ceiling before moving on to her legs.

Bill was trying very hard not to be distracted by his vantage point on the sofas but it still took him a couple of seconds to register that she had just accepted his invitation to dinner. Good, he thought, ordering dinner gave him something to do - other than fight the seemingly automatic tilting of his head as Laura touched her toes that was. She was going to catch him at it if he didn't get a grip and honestly, if he kept spectating, it was going to become mortifyingly obvious in the not-too-distant future down which gutter his thoughts flowed.

He got up to use the phone but on reflection paused long enough to ask, 'If I order dinner now will it be cold by the time you get out of the shower?'

As if on cue, Laura's stomach growled. 'Doubtful,' she said, with a soft snort of laughter.

And she was right - unfortunately for Private Boyd, who almost spilled his tray the moment he clapped eyes on her, as if she'd jumped out at him rather than strolling calmly out of the bathroom towelling her hair dry.

She rolled her eyes, 'Need a hand with that?' she asked, not keen to have to wait for a second dinner to arrive - _again - _if he upset the first but the closer she got the more the items rattled on their tray. 'My gods, I'm half your size and twice your age, what could you possibly be afraid of?' she finally snapped incredulously. Boyd looked more terrified than ever. '_Why are you cowering? _Oh for _goodness _- Admiral,' she said in a tone that clearly begged him to step in before she completely lost not only her temper but quite possibly her sanity, too.

'Just put it on the table, son,' he said, somehow keeping a straight face as the boy, barely more than twenty and now beet-red, all-but-dropped the tray and scarpered.

'Oh my _gods_,' said Laura as the hatch clunked shut, shaking her head. 'What is _wrong _with that boy? I mean, seriously, what else am I supposed to do here?' she asked, helping to lay the table. 'Can't you put him on a different shift or something? You _are_ the Admiral.'

'I think he likes the job he's got,' said Bill.

'You do not,' she contradicted. He couldn't possibly believe that after witnessing their brief interactions. 'He looks like he thinks he's about to be tortured every time he sets eyes on me.' Bill didn't say anything but she could see the smile he wasn't quite managing to squelch. '_Bill,__'_ she said pleadingly, 'come on.'

He chuckled, shaking his head. 'Nope.'

'Seriously?' she asked incredulously as he seated himself. 'You're not going to do anything?'

'It's five minutes of your day.'

'But he's terrified of me!'

'He's not terrified of you.'

'Did you hear the plates rattling?' she asked, picking up his empty glass to refill while she got herself a drink.

'He's not terrified of you,' Bill repeated, and Laura thought he sounded pretty sure about that. Too sure.

'Well, why else would he act like that? What aren't you telling me?' she asked, shooting him a suspicious look over her shoulder. Bill started laughing again. 'Ooh,' she breathed through gritted teeth as she turned around, narrowing her eyes at him as she debated whether to give him his drink or throw it at him. If he laughed one more time…

Well, let's just say she seated herself within kicking distance.

'I thought you were hungry,' he said, when she continued to scowl at him.

She _was _hungry. She was also annoyed. It was hard to decide which was more powerful at this point. She picked up her knife and fork and Bill eyed the cutlery warily, obviously unsure which impulse was winning out, too. In the end it was hunger: the one good thing about New Caprica was the fresh foodstuff and the smell of the food in front of her was making her stomach rumble again. 'Smells good,' she admitted, digging in.

They ate in silence for a while, both enjoying what amounted to a nicely done roast dinner, Laura deliberately _not _asking what kind of meat it was. The meals aboard Galactica were usually generous, apparently sticking to the maxim that an army marched on it's stomach, but for once this wasn't a problem for Laura, though her waistband was feeling a little tighter. She set down her knife and fork for a moment, popping the top button on her trousers with a sigh of relief.

'Have you heard anything about the Gemenon Traveller? I still haven't got an engineering certificate and they've got a lot of construction workers aboard. If it doesn't pass inspection I'm going to have to start yanking people off other ships in favour of the skilled labourers and you know how well that's going to go down.'

'Mm,' Bill agreed, swallowing a mouthful of roast potato. 'Don't remember seeing anything but I'll check after dinner if you like.'

'Thanks,' she nodded, sipping her drink. 'It was meant to be one of the first to land. I've already had to push the landing date back once. Did you get the revised schedule?' Bill looked vague. She shrugged, 'Never mind. I'm sure you've got more important things to worry about.'

'Something on your mind?' he asked.

For a moment she debated whether or not to say anything. There was nothing Bill could do about it anyway. She half shrugged, shaking her head.

'What?' he prodded.

She caved. 'See for yourself,' she said, getting up to retrieve something from the office. Bill frowned as he read the paper with the official presidential seal across the top she had received that day.

'He can't be serious.'

'He's gotta be doing Zarek a favour, but you know who's going to get the stick for it when the fleet finds out?' she said, indicating herself.

Bill did not look best pleased but, as she had anticipated, there was nothing he could do about her orders from on high to place the Astral Queen right behind Colonial One in the queue to land. Not that she didn't think a thousand men would make considerable headway in building the settlement but did they really want that many criminals running free on the surface? Did Zarek _really _think people would have nothing to say on the subject?

'Personally I recommend waiting for Colonial One and the Astral Queen to land, dropping a nuke on them and getting the hell out of here,' she said, swigging her drink again.

'And how would we explain that to the rest of the fleet?'

'Someone leaned on the wrong control?' she suggested.

'Think they'll buy it?' he asked, as if seriously contemplating it as a plan of action.

'Probably not,' said Laura, but she appreciated his playing along with her homicidal fantasies all the same.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading, encouragement appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Final chapter of Tabula Rasa, hope you enjoy! x

* * *

**Tabula Rasa**

**Chapter V**

You'd think that after almost two months of waking up in cold sweats the impact of her nightmares would have lessened some, or so Laura grumbled to herself as she doused her face in cold water. For all intents and purposes she had done her best to put the election behind her and move on, unfortunately her subconscious didn't seem to have gotten the memo and she was still being reminded of what Baltar's presidency had already cost the human race several times a week. She was never going to be free of the man.

She brushed her teeth and swept her hair up into a ponytail, getting ready for her run though Bill wouldn't be expecting her for another half an her quarters were not as depressing as they'd once been for she'd made an effort to trade for some, if not tasteful, at least cheerful tapestries and throws to brighten the place up as well as a couple of cushions for the sofa. Hell, it was practically homely and Laura was able to make herself quite comfortable as she poured herself a drink, lit a cigarette and settled down to a chapter of the latest novel she'd stolen from the admiral. There was nothing like sinking into another world to take your mind off your own, especially a good mystery. Unfortunately, this was nothing like a good mystery, and by chapter three it wasn't a mystery at all.

'I mean, it couldn't be any more obvious that it was that Darius guy but I can't even be bothered to read it just for the satisfaction of being right. What dross.'

'You say that like I recommended it,' said Bill, secretly wondering how she could run and complain at the same time.

'It was on _your_ bookshelf.'

'Generally where books are kept. I haven't read them all.'

'Well, this is one less you have to read,' she said, as if she had saved him from mental agony.

'Must be why I never got past chapter two,' he pondered.

'You could have warned me.'

'Yeah, advise the book-thief on the best volumes to steal. Why didn't I think of that?'

'I bring them back, don't I?'

'So far as I can tell.'

'Are you saying you don't _know?__'_ she asked, with a saucy look. 'I thought you had a 'system'.'

'I'm beginning to think I need an inventory list not a system.'

'You know this doesn't count as one of my loans,' she said, having made him issue her with IOU's after their little triad game with Tigh.

'You still borrowed it.'

'But I only read three chapters. I want a new one, one you've read - _and _enjoyed,' she added, covering her bases. She trusted Bill's taste in books since they were so similar to her own, but her faith in his library was slightly battered. She used to think she could pick anything off his shelf and it would have at least some merit: no more. From now on she was getting recommendations.

'Running out of steam?' she asked when he didn't say anything. Well, they had been round the ship twice. Fortunately they were almost back on their own corridor so it was a good place for him to call it quits.

'Are you implying that I can't keep up with you?' he asked, trying not to sound as fagged as he was.

'No, I'm inferring it.'

'Once a school-teacher,' he accused, both he and Laura eyeing the home-straight as they rounded the last corner then looking at each other impishly. It was unbelievably childish but there didn't seem to be anybody in this section yet.

'Last one back's a rotten egg!' challenged Laura suddenly, putting on a spurt of speed to get ahead of him.

Why that cheeky- 'Cheat!'

She turned just long enough to flash him a grin, knowing he didn't stand a chance of catching her though he was giving it a good effort. She hit the end of the corridor, jumping neatly down the steps a second later when Bill nearly squashed her colliding with the wall himself.

'I win.'

'You cheated,' he panted, as he followed her into his quarters.

'Says the rotten egg,' she gloated.

'You're five years old.'

She shrugged sheepishly, not really in a position to argue with that assessment at present, especially when she had such playground classics as 'I'm rubber, you're glue…' running through her head. 'I'm hitting the shower,' he announced needlessly as she started warming down.

'Don't forget to shave that bit under your nose,' she called just as he was shutting the door and chuckling evilly at his completely unintelligible yet doubtlessly acerbic retort. She'd been teasing him about his fledgling moustache all week. Not because she had a particular problem with it, it was just fun to finally have something to wind him up about, especially after the whole Zeus incident. She'd thought he was going to drown himself in his porridge when Tigh pointed out he'd missed a bit yesterday. It couldn't have been funnier if she'd planned it.

Finishing her stretches with no sign of Bill, she wandered over to check her agenda for the day and noticed a new batch of names for the settlement list. Every day, more and more names. With a dozen ships now landed the work on the ground was speeding up. Tents were being set up as temporary accommodation but the real construction work hadn't even begun. The prospect of spending gods knew how long living in tents didn't seem to phase people though, especially those currently living aboard ships that weren't going to be able to land.

They obviously hadn't been reading the weather reports otherwise they might have realised that it was winter on New Caprica, no time to have only canvas standing between you and the elements. Which was exactly why nobody _would _be able to settle minus a ship for at least another month. Even Baltar could recognise the dangers of subjecting people to that kind of cold.

She glanced over the new list, attention arrested on the second page. Not believing what she saw the first time, she picked it up, holding it closer to her face and praying that she'd simply misread it without her glasses on. She hadn't. Maya was on this list. Maya and Isis. Maya, who'd lost her baby, and Isis, the hybrid child who Laura had secretly stolen from the cylon currently stewing in a Galactica jail-cell and given to Maya to pass off as her own. Not her finest moment as president but a necessary step to protect the child from cylons and humans alike.

She couldn't just have them wandering around on the surface unwatched and unprotected. Frak, Tory was meant to be keeping an eye on them, it was no accident that she was housed aboard the same ship as Maya. How had this slipped by her?

She had her hand on the phone to find out just that but thought better of it, Bill would be out of the bathroom any moment. She'd be better off going over to the Zephyr in person to sort this mess out, then she could visit Maya too and convince her of the mistake she was making. Easier said than done when Maya had no idea that Isis was really Hera. _Frak_. She was going to _kill _Tory.

'All yours.'

She jumped. She'd been too horrified to hear Bill come out of the bathroom but thankfully she had her back to him.

'Sorry,' he grinned, pulling a clean uniform out of a cupboard. 'Something wrong?' he asked, probably because she had failed to remind him of his deficient shaving skills again.

She forced herself to act normal. 'No, no. I was just thinking of paying Tory a visit. I haven't been off Galactica since I got here.'

'Sounds like a good idea,' Bill agreed, pulling out a clean uniform.

'Yeah,' said Laura softly, sharing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 'Can't just stay locked up here forever.' Much as she might want to.

* * *

AN: Not quite satisfied with this final chapter for some reason, not sure I got that first bit of banter quite right. Hopefully nobody saw the cliff-hanger coming, I hate to be too predictable! Let me know what you think if you wanna know what happens next, mwah ha ha…

COMING UP: The Ex-President part 3: The Ghost of Presidential Decisions Past


End file.
